


they just got law degrees and updated their bag of tricks

by threefundamentaltruths



Series: my dearest, angelica [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, Many more tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefundamentaltruths/pseuds/threefundamentaltruths
Summary: This collection is part oflet me be a part of the narrative, a series of various scenes (and headcanons) in a modern AU 'verse calledmy dearest, angelica.my dearest, angelicais very loosely based on my canon era AUhe takes (and he takes and he takes). The collections inlet me be a part of the narrativeand the scenes within them come in no particular order and from a variety of POVs.This particular collection,they just got law degrees and updated their bag of tricks, focuses on John Laurens and Angelica Schuyler, with appearances from/mentions of various Schuylers, Schuyler-adjacents, and others.Part 6: “This is the worst possible time for this to happen,” a visibly anxious Angelica groans when their elevator stalls on the way up to the penthouse.





	1. June 2015: Frances, Angelica, John

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Susan Elizabeth Phillips's  _Fancy Pants_.
> 
> For those following at home, the _my dearest, angelica_ universe features, among other things:
> 
> \- The Schuylers (and in-laws) as basically their own political-dynasty-in-the-making and an all-around awesome family
> 
> \- Trevor Noah's crush on Angelica, who is a senator and the better half of "the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of the resistance," as a running gag on The Daily Show (he’s the one who calls her “my dearest, Angelica”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frances's eyes are drawn to a family photo. “What are they up to tonight?” Dinner is just supposed to be her, Angelica, and Laurens. Kids are a safe topic, even if they’re your biological father’s, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant headcanons: 
> 
> \- Angelica, Alexander, and John all went to law school at Columbia together. (MUCH more on that in future headcanons/fic.)
> 
> \- During this universe's version of the Obama years, Hillary Clinton still becomes Secretary of State and needs to be replaced as the junior US senator from New York. Angelica is appointed in HRC's place and elected in her own right in a special election in 2010 and again for a full term in 2012.
> 
> \- Washington is the first US Attorney General during the Obama years and Alexander is his Deputy Attorney General. When Washington steps down, Alexander is confirmed as Attorney General in April 2015. 
> 
> \- During the tenure of both Obama-era AGs, John serves as Assistant Attorney General for Civil Rights (AKA head of the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice.) 
> 
> \- During college, John does a semester abroad in London. William Manning is a friend of Henry's and so Henry asks him to keep an eye out for John. The Mannings have John over for dinner every now and again, which is how he gets to know Martha, who is a first year at University College at the time. 
> 
> \- John and Martha hook up and Martha gets pregnant, but doesn't say anything to John because he's gone back home by the time she knows. Martha's parents send her to the countryside to have the baby (Frances) and Martha gives Frances up for adoption to a well-to-do couple (English husband, American wife) who can't have children. Martha resumes her regularly scheduled life and eventually becomes a very successful editor at British Vogue. 
> 
> \- Frances grows up loved and cherished by her adoptive parents. She goes to law school at Columbia. When she graduates, she works in the Disability Rights Section of the Civil Rights Division at DOJ during John's tenure as Assistant Attorney General. She's engaged to Francis (Frank) Henderson, who works in the Voting Rights Section.

_June 2015_

 

“Frances,” says Angelica Schuyler upon opening the door to a ridiculously gorgeous Kalorama home, about 10 seconds after she rang the bell.

 

She could probably never have a house this nice, even if Frank does leave DOJ for private practice like he’s thinking about, even with Mummy’s help –

 

“I’m so glad you could come.”

 

“Senator –”

 

“Angelica, please.” The correction is polite, but firm.

 

“Angelica,” she amends. “Thank you for having me. I brought wine,” she adds brightly. It had taken her an age to decide what she ought to bring to dinner. Wine seemed safe.

 

“Thank you.“

 

“Madeira,” she explains after handing it to Angelica. “The dessert kind. I went to Portugal last month.” With Frank, but she doesn’t want to answer questions about why she didn’t bring her fiancé along. She thought she needed to do this on her own, and Frank respects that.

 

“Did you like it?”

 

“Loved it.”

 

Angelica smiles a little. “I find most people underrate Portugal until they go. I really loved it when I went, too.” She puts down the bottle on the side table. “Can I take your coat?”

 

“That would be great, thank you.” Her eyes are drawn to a family photo. “What are they up to tonight?” Dinner is just supposed to be her, Angelica, and Laurens. Kids are a safe topic, even if they’re your biological father’s, right? Speaking of, where –

 

“They’re having a sleepover at my sister’s. Peggy, the youngest. The one not married to your boss’s boss,” Angelica clarifies with a laugh after taking her rain coat and hanging it in the foyer closet.

 

Fortunately, there had only been a drizzle and she’d managed to keep her hair dry. She hadn’t wanted to meet Angelica Schuyler with frizzy hair.

 

“John went to drop them off; he should be back any minute. Dinner’s still in the oven, anyway. In the meantime, how about we go to the living room and I pour you some non-dessert wine?”

 

“That sounds great.” She drove, but she also isn’t about to get drunk at _this_ dinner, so it’s all right.

 

“Red or white? I’ve got a chardonnay and a Malbec.”

 

“I’ll have what you’re having,” she says, wanting to be polite as she follows Angelica through the house.

 

“I’m passing on wine tonight, so go for what you actually like.”

 

“Chardonnay, then, thank you.”

 

“I usually go for whites, too.”

 

\---

 

They’ve just gotten settled – her with her chardonnay and Angelica with some lemonade – when Angelica looks to the right of her and calls, “you’re frizzing.”

 

“You act like that’s a surprise every time, even though you’ve known me way too long for it to actually be,” Laurens retorts good-naturedly. “Hi, Frances. Sorry I’m late.”

 

“No worries. How long have you known each other?” she asks, wanting to discuss something innocuous.

 

“Twenty . . . six years?”

 

“Nearly twenty-seven,” Angelica corrects. “We’re so old.”

 

“You don’t look it.”

 

“You’re supposed to say I’m not, not that I don’t look it, dear.” Angelica rolls her eyes and adds, in a loud whisper to Frances, “I ask myself every day why I had to meet him and Alexander before Contracts 1L. Could’ve been friends with normal people instead of them. Eliza and I could’ve –”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Anyway,” Angelica continues, as though she hadn’t insulted her husband in the slightest. “Dinner should be ready to come out of the oven. I decided to keep it simple, since I’m not much of a cook,” she adds with a not-really-apologetic shrug.

 

She decides right then that she likes Angelica. “Neither am I.”

 

“Career women, huh?” jokes Laurens.

 

Angelica swats him, rolling her eyes.

 

She can’t help but laugh. So far, this isn’t as bad as she was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I expect you to have (many?) questions about we got to this point, which will be answered in other scenes!


	2. September 1988: John, Angelica, Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’d be pretty if you smiled_ , a lot of people would probably tell the tall, dark-skinned, decidedly determined girl looming over him before Contracts if they dared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene follows up on the previous piece, specifically, this part:
> 
> "How long have you known each other?” 
> 
> “Twenty . . . six years?”
> 
> “Nearly twenty-seven,” Angelica corrects. “We’re so old.”
> 
> “You don’t look it.”
> 
> “You’re supposed to say I’m not, not that I don’t look it, dear.” Angelica rolls her eyes and adds, in a loud whisper to Frances, “I ask myself every day why I had to meet him and Alexander before Contracts 1L. Could’ve been friends with normal people instead of them."
> 
> \---
> 
> Relevant head canons:
> 
> \- At this point in time, Philip Schuyler is the Democratic junior U.S. senator from New York, essentially replacing Al D'Amato in this universe. He won the seat in 1981 after serving as Governor of New York. Daniel Patrick Moynihan (D) is the senior U.S. senator and will retire in 1996 (instead of 2000 - we're fiddling with his terms of office), at which point Chuck Schumer (D) will win his seat (2 years earlier than he won Al D'Amato's (R) seat in reality). Before becoming Governor, Philip represented New York's 20th Congressional District (the Capital District) in the House. TLDR: PS has a long, storied political career.
> 
> \- Henry Laurens is a (socially) conservative Democrat representing South Carolina's 1st Congressional District and is currently House Majority Leader.
> 
> \- It should be noted that future First Lady Michelle Obama was class of ’85 at Princeton; in this universe, that means she was a senior when John was a freshman.
> 
> Other Notes:
> 
> \- Patty is Martha Laurens (Ramsay).

_September 1988_

 

 _You’d be pretty if you smiled_ , a lot of people would probably tell the tall, dark-skinned, decidedly determined girl looming over him before Contracts if they dared.

 

But it’d be a lie, because even stone-faced she’s pretty. In that siren from _The_   _Odyssey_ who could kill you sort of way.

 

That’s why he’s glad he’s the one she’s looming over. He’s only known Alexander for a few days, and he already knows Alexander is as stubborn as he is, but in this particular case, Alexander would have let her have her way in a blink. Maybe because she’s Senator Schuyler’s daughter, and definitely because she’s easily the most attractive girl in their section.

 

But she’s not dealing with Alexander. She’s dealing with him, and _his_ father isn’t exactly a nobody so he isn’t automatically impressed with her like some of their classmates. But Philip Schuyler’s always been a man on the move, so he doesn’t want to make an enemy of his daughter unnecessarily. He’s just not going to let her walk all over him.

 

“You’re sitting in my seat,” she says flatly when her hovering fails to get a rise out of him. _Get up._

 

If he were one of his football friends from college, he’d probably point to his lap and tell her _this seat’s open_ with a smarmy smirk just to fluster her, but he's him. Instead, he picks up the pen sitting on top of his notebook on the half-desk and fiddles indifferently with it.

 

She bristles.

 

“I don’t see your name on it.”

 

“I didn’t think that was required. I’ve sat in it every other class we have in this room.”

 

“Because every other class we have in this room, we have pre-assigned seats.” In reverse alphabetical order, probably to accommodate this girl. “This one we don’t.” He stops, hating the way his old accent creeps in ever so slightly. He shouldn’t have spent so long in Charleston this summer. “So, I made sure to arrive early and choose my preferred seat before we fill out the seating chart. Shame for you that you didn’t think ahead like I did.” His backpack is in the seat to his right, which he’s saving for Alexander. “And speaking of names, you never did introduce yourself –”

 

“You know who I am, Laurens.”

 

He barely manages not to roll his eyes. He hates people like her, people who think they’re better than everyone else, the _do you know who I am_ types.

 

She pastes a thin smile on her face when he remains silent and sits down to his immediate left despite the roomful of empty seats.

 

Damn it. They sit in determined silence until Alexander comes back with two coffees.

 

He puts down the pen he’s been toying with and takes his backpack off Alexander’s seat, setting it under his desk.  

 

“Cream, no sugar.” Alexander hands him one of the coffees before sitting down.

 

He can hear her wrinkle her nose without looking at her. “How do you take your coffee, princess?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “No cream, one sugar.”

 

Alexander leans across him toward her, free hand outstretched. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

 

She takes Alexander’s hand and seems to shake it firmly. “My name is Angelica Schuyler.”

 

“Alexander Hamilton.”

 

“Where are you from, Alexander?”

 

“Alex,” he corrects, carefully but casually sidestepping the question. “My friends call me Alex,” he adds charmingly. “And I hope we’ll be friends.”

 

His eyes nearly roll right out of his head. He’s pretty confident he already falls in that category and he's yet to hear that little spiel.

 

She makes a noncommittal noise, dark eyes unreadable. “We’ll see.”

 

He has to stifle a snigger. He can’t tell if Alexander is offended, smitten, or both.

 

“Have you joined a study group yet?” she continues in the same tone.

 

 _Here we go._ Alexander has already proven that he’s leagues ahead of everyone else, so of course she’d want him in her study group.

 

“Uh, well –” Uncharacteristically inarticulate. He can see the wheels turning in Alexander’s mind. On the one hand, Alexander won’t want to ditch him. On the other hand, if he can get into Angelica Schuyler’s study group . . . “We’ve got a study pair going on right now, but we’re open to other members.”

 

It nearly warms his cold, dead heart. (Somewhere, Patty's rolling her eyes.) “If they can keep up,” he adds, like the smart-ass Patty so often accuses him of being.

 

Alexander shoots him a deadly look. Yep, smitten.

 

“The other idiots can’t keep up with _me_ ,” she retorts bluntly.

 

Is she calling _them_ idiots, too? What the – He sits up, ready to spit nails.

 

Alexander throws him a pleading look.

 

“Don’t tell them I said that, obviously. Where’d you do your undergrad?”

 

“Here at Columbia,” says Alexander, eyes begging _play nice_.

 

He answers grudgingly, “Princeton.”

 

“Hmm.” She’s poker-faced, but suitably impressed, or she would make it very clear that she isn’t.

 

“And you?” he prods faux-casually.

 

“Yale.”

 

“Didn’t get into Harvard, huh?”

 

“I did, and turned them down,” she says calmly. “Did you?”

 

Alexander’s lips are pressed together like he’s trying not to laugh. _Traitor._

“Princeton was my first choice.” Dad’s first choice (and Mom’s, who forbade applying to Dartmouth because of the distance and favored Princeton and Penn primarily because of their relative proximity to Charleston), but for all the difference it made . . .

 

Dad had wanted him to go to Harvard Law after, of course, but he’d hated the idea and had managed to convince him Columbia would be better: still top 5 and an Ivy, but closer to DC, which would let him come see his father and attend fundraisers and other events more often, really begin to make his own connections. Dad had commended him on his foresight.

 

(He plans not to live up to his end of the bargain.)

 

“Not quite a masterful lawyerly sidestep, but we’ve only been here a week. I can overlook it,” she continues airily. “If you two live up to your own hype, this could be –”

 

“The beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Alexander finishes for her.

 

Tellingly, neither of them chimes in to second him.

 

“Now play nice, children,” Alexander adds firmly, giving him a quelling look before settling back in his seat, looking like the cat with the cream as he sips his awful black coffee and the rest of their classmates slowly filter in.

 

Angelica Schuyler looks entirely too satisfied for his taste for the rest of class, but he wouldn’t put it past her to push him down the stairs on the way out of Greene just to get his seat, so he lets her pass in front of him on the way out.

 

Survival instinct, Southern manners, or both; he’s not entirely sure which of his mama’s lessons applies.


	3. August 1991: Angelica, John, Alexander, the Schuylers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s the last one left after her going-away party, the night before she leaves for her clerkship in DC, after Eliza and Alexander have left, after Mom and Dad and Peggy have gone to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear already, I'm jumping all over the timeline for this universe.
> 
> Relevant headcanons:
> 
> \- Philip and Catharine had a very hard time having children, so Angelica was pretty damn near a miracle. They felt very fortunate once they had her and wanted to give her the world, which in their minds included siblings. 
> 
> \- Eliza was purposely adopted relatively soon after they had Angelica. 
> 
> \- Peggy, on the other hand, was left on the doorstep of Philip's district office after her birth mother read an article about this fairly young, well-to-do congressman that mentioned that he and his wife had recently adopted a baby girl who was unexpectedly orphaned after the deaths of her Chinese mother and American father. Peggy's birth mother knew she couldn't properly care for her baby (who, like the Schuylers' adoptive daughter was biracial - though it was a different combination of races - which she worried might make things challenging insofar as potential adoptive parents went) and thought in a bit of a panic "why not my baby too?" At best, her baby would have what seemed like a great home. At worst, she had to put her faith in the fact that the Schuylers were kind people who would find her baby girl a good alternative home.
> 
> \- Of course, you can guess that Philip and Catharine ultimately adopted Peggy, too. But they agreed that Peggy was it, no more after that.

_August 1991_

 

John’s the last one left after her going-away party, the night before she leaves for her clerkship in DC, after Eliza and Alexander have left, after Mom and Dad and Peggy have gone to sleep.

 

They walk to her favorite pizza place and order slices to take back to her parents’ place, where they sit on the balcony, look out at the city lights, the Empire State Building, and Lady Liberty, and finish off the last of the champagne, quiet and contemplative.

 

She tries not to be jealous of Alex’s SDNY clerkship, of John’s fellowship at the ACLU, and how they get to stay in the city. She could have gone to SDNY or EDNY, but D.C. was what she wanted, at least for now. Except now everything’s changing.

 

Before, there wouldn’t have been quite so much champagne, because Eliza and Alexander would have stuck it out with them, but she suspects that chapter of their lives is done.

 

\---

 

“We’ve got to go, we’re all getting up early tomorrow –”

 

The irony of Alexander, for whom all-nighters are practically second nature, saying that is almost too much for her.

 

“– And Eliza needs her rest,” Alexander finishes protectively as he hurries through their goodbyes.

 

Eliza indulges in the eye rolling _she_ can’t let herself do without looking like a bitch as Mom clucks her agreement and Daddy gives Eliza an affectionately concerned once-over.

 

She tries not to be annoyed that they decided tonight was the night to tell the family, that they felt the need to snatch up her spotlight on her last night in New York.

 

\---

 

“Don’t you feel like they’ve grown up and left us behind for real now? I would’ve expected that of Eliza, but Alex –”

 

“Penniless orphan made good, wants a family of his own, found the right woman for it. Not that surprising,” John counters with a little wry smile. “He should send you flowers every day for the rest of your life.”

 

“Sometimes I regret it,” she admits, quiet and ashamed. But there’s no one to blame for her regrets, because she’s entirely the author of their love story and her own discontent.

 

 _I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul._

 

And how can she regret making her sister happy?

 

John matches her confession with his own as he pours her another glass. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t. Not that it matters, really.”

 

She grimaces, but has nothing to say to that. “Try not to grow up too much while I’m gone,” she demands instead.

 

“I won’t,” he promises. “Raise a glass to freedom,” he says in the old refrain, far more serious than the first time.

 

“To freedom,” she echoes, clinking her glass against his.

 

“Gonna miss you, Schuyler,” he says after a long silence, long after they’ve set their empty glasses down by their feet, eyes on the skyline instead of her.

 

“I’ll miss you, too,” she admits softly.

 

They’ve been friends for three years, and she would say he’s her best friend besides her sisters now, but this is one of only a handful of times they’ve stopped taking the piss out of each other and displayed real affection.

 

He turns to look at her at that, something sweet and sad in his eyes.

 

She holds his gaze, steady as a rock, and when he leans over, she meets him halfway. 

 

\---

 

Luckily, everyone’s too emotional the next morning when they all see her off at Penn Station to notice that John’s still wearing last night's clothes – Eliza’s usual sentimentality up about ten notches, probably because of her hormones, Peggy actually showing sentimentality at all because Angelica moving away for her first real job is a turning point, Daddy torn between pride and protectiveness, as though he isn’t going to check up on her every week Congress is in session. Mom would, too, except now she probably won’t want to leave Eliza, will hover over her 24/7.

 

(Grandfather Schuyler had once called her their parents’ pride and Eliza their joy, leaving Peggy to wonder what she was.

 

Like Daddy, Grandfather had always preferred Eliza, despite the fact that Angelica was his only biological grandchild, which was surprisingly progressive of the old man, if for different reasons than Daddy. Grandfather believed very seriously that children should be seen and not heard and Eliza was the naturally quiet child, though she could be pretty boisterous around Angelica and Peggy and their friends. Angelica could make herself behave, so Grandfather liked her well enough, even if he thought she had too many opinions for a girl. But Peggy was always irrepressible.

 

 _Thank God Grandfather didn’t live to see this_ , she thought irreverently when Peggy came out her freshman year of college.)

 

“Blow them all away, sis,” Alexander says, after a quick hug and a long look.

 

“She will,” says John, his hug longer and his look shorter. “I’d wish you luck, but you won’t need it.”

 

Then her sisters and their parents are all over her, Daddy blinking stubbornly as he reminds her she’ll see him and Mom in two weeks, Eliza and Mom crying in their weirdly pretty way, and Peggy uncharacteristically nearly bawling, until she can’t put getting on the train off any longer.

 

She doesn’t cry until she’s alone in her new apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul_ is from Invictus.


	4. July 2010, October 2009: John, Frances, Martha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Frances Rivington. I’m a rising 2L at Columbia, originally from London,” says the first girl – _young woman_ corrects a voice that sounds like Angelica, they’re twenty-somethings, not his daughters’ age – to his right, looking at him expectantly after rattling off her information.
> 
> He nods (warmly, he hopes) before turning his head slightly to focus on the next intern.

_July 2010_

 

He knows what it’s like to be stared at in DC; his wife is a high-profile senator, and when he’s in his own circles, he’s considered something of a minor god. But for some reason, he’s much more aware of the eyes on him today, in a room full of over-ambitious 1Ls interning in his office, all more eager than the next to wow him with their brilliance, to work their resumes into whatever questions they ask him about his work at Justice and his career preceding it.

 

But first, introductions. His own he could give in his sleep, and he sits, determined to look at each intern as they recite their names, years, law schools, and hometowns, and maybe actually try to learn their names, at least. They deserve that much after all the unpaid labor.

 

“Frances Rivington. I’m a rising 2L at Columbia, originally from London,” says the first girl – _young woman_ corrects a voice that sounds like Angelica, they’re twenty-somethings, not his daughters’ age – to his right, looking at him expectantly after rattling off her information.

 

He nods (warmly, he hopes) before turning his head slightly to focus on the next intern.

 

“Frank Henderson. I'm a rising 2L at –”

 

\---

 

_October 2009_

 

Laurens is a dynamic speaker, serious or joking at exactly the right moments. He clearly hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to be in their shoes, talks about not wanting to work for The Man, but how it isn’t all bad, and not just because of the money. Sometimes it leads to public service. He cites his wife and his brother-in-law, also Columbia alumni, as examples of the latter. Personally, she’d rather have heard from his (literally, in her opinion) better half. She’d wager her favorite Louboutins that Angelica Schuyler will be the Democratic nominee for President someday - and win.

 

It’s interesting enough, she supposes, but not particularly life-changing.  

 

The glimpse she catches of the little girl in the back row who nearly knocks over three grown men to get to _Daddy!_  at the end is.

 

She could be looking at her eight-year-old self.

 

\---

 

She knows she was born in the English countryside, that her birth mother had been a first year at university when she got pregnant, that she’d been sent away to give birth in secret, as one did, and then resumed her schooling as if nothing had ever happened. She knows nothing about her biological father. She’s never really cared about either of them, but now the blanks in her life story are beginning to eat at her. 

 

Even though there’s no reason to think he’s even ever set foot anywhere on the British Isles, she Googles the shit out of John Laurens that night.

 

\---

 

It’s a dead end, but now that the questions eat at her, she wants answers, so she files to unseal her adoption records and finds nothing on her biological father, but does get the name of her biological mother. Martha Manning, who, according to Google, is an editor at British _Vogue_ , is married to shipping mogul John Barker Church, but kept her maiden name.

 

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Ms. Manning,” she says when their thrice-rescheduled twelve-minute meeting – the assistant had been emphatic on that point, _not a minute more, Miss Rivington_ – finally takes place. “I appreciate it.”

 

“I’m glad that you do,” Martha Manning says, instead of _you’re welcome_ or even _it’s nice to meet you_ , like a normal person would say. She makes Miranda Priestley look like your friendliest neighbor. The woman doesn’t even bother to say _call me Martha_ , with a fake laugh that says you shouldn’t take her up on it if you value your social standing.

 

It’s incredibly awkward, and she regrets her decision to bother this woman more with every second that passes. “Can you tell me who my biological father is?” she finally asks after Ms. Manning’s assistant returns with the older woman’s café au lait and scurries out.

 

Ms. Manning says nothing, but her impassive face flickers.

 

“Please?” she asks, hating that she has to.

 

“It’s not my place to. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

 

“It probably wasn’t fair to you to be pregnant alone as a first year,” she retorts.

 

“I had the burden, but I also had the choice. He didn’t,” Ms. Manning says too-evenly.

 

“All right then. I won’t take up more of your valuable time,” she says, just barely keeping the snark out of her tone as she rises to leave the too-perfect corner office before her twelve minutes are up. “Thank you, Ms. Manning.” When she’s at the door, she takes a deep breath; she does owe this woman one sincere expression of gratitude. “I’m not asking these questions because there’s something missing in my life. My parents are amazing. Thank you for that.”

 

Ms. Manning nods, face marginally softer, before Frances turns to leave.

 

\---

 

She applies for an internship in the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice – one perk of being a dual-citizen. When she gets it, she decides she’s going to make sure she gets face time with the chief somehow. She has to.

 

\---

 

Except she doesn’t. She gets 10 seconds of rattling off key biographical information as part of an off-the-record Q&A and is too anxious to raise her hand to ask anything when he opens the floor up to questions. What would she have asked, anyway?

 

And what are the odds that it’s even Laurens anyway? It’s probably a wild goose chase, and as the days and weeks wear on, she begins to accept she’ll never have her questions answered.

 

And does it matter, really? She has good parents. She doesn’t need to track down a guy who’s little more than a sperm donor in the grand scheme of things, who has no idea she exists, who might resent her existence or, perhaps worse, want a relationship.

 

So she decides she’s going to stop thinking about it, but she does apply to the DOJ Honors Program and ranks the Civil Rights Division first. When she wasn’t distracted by what ifs, she really did love the work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also check out _here's looking at you, kid_ : http://archiveofourown.org/works/10702308/chapters/25479552 - the October 2009 scene(s) in that story occurs the same day as the October 2009 scene in this story; they're linked :)
> 
> Tumblr is your3fundamentaltruths - come say hello!


	5. August 1991: Angelica, Alex, the Schuylers, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not to sound greedy, but why is everybody getting a present at _my_ going-away party?”
> 
> Earlier in the evening of Angelica's going-away party

_August 1991_

 

“Not to sound greedy, but why is everybody getting a present at _my_ going-away party?”

 

Everybody really means her and their parents and Peggy, the only people here an hour before the party’s due to start, but the point bears making. They called her into the living room mid-prep.

 

“Because you all need these,” Eliza answers patiently, the corners of her lips curling into an indulgent smile.

 

Arm around Eliza’s waist, Alex watches his wife as affectionately as she watches them.

 

She’s slow and methodical in her own unwrapping; Peggy, impatient as ever, unwraps her little box first and shoves aside the layer of tissue paper aside, gasping “’Liza!”

 

Their mother’s gasp is softer and nearly silent, but it’s their father’s hopeful, disbelieving little “really?” that makes her heart stutter in her chest just before she makes out what’s spelled out in primary colors on the cheap ceramic in her hands.

 

Eliza nods frantically; Alex is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt.

 

Mom squeals and Peggy nearly throws down her _#1 Aunt_ mug to run at Eliza and half-tackle her in a hug as Daddy wipes at his eyes.

 

She squeezes Daddy’s shoulder before getting up, hugging Alex first because Peggy and their mother are shrieking and smothering Eliza half-to-death. “This kid’s so lucky to have you,” she tells him, and means it.

 

There’s more love in Alex than he could give in a lifetime. Alex doesn’t know it yet, but she saw it and Eliza sees it, too.

 

“Will you?” he asks.

 

“Will I –?”

 

“Didn’t you –” He shakes his head and laughs a little, waving at the mug she’d left on the table.

 

 _#1 Godmother._ She nods. “Of course.” When she turns to her sister, Daddy’s standing beside Eliza, arm around her shoulders, sniffling slightly.

 

“She said yes,” Alex tells them happily.

 

“I knew she would,” Eliza says, reaching out to squeeze her hand with her free one.

 

She squeezes back.

 

“Why does Angie get to be godmother?” Peggy demands.

 

“She’s the gainfully employed aunt –”

 

She’d be offended if that were the only reason, of course. But it’s best not to disturb Peggy’s ruffled feathers any further than necessary.

 

“We all have trust funds,” Peggy counters shamelessly. “And she’s not even going to _be_ here –”

 

Mom cuts in, “Enough.”

 

“But –”

 

“They asked, Angelica agreed, there’s no going back no matter how much you press, Peg.”

 

“And it’s only a year. They’ll be in DC the year after, too,” she reminds her little sister.

 

“Fine,” Peggy huffs, childishly crossing her arms.

 

“Off with you, girls,” Mom finally says. “You have to finish getting ready.”

 

\---

 

She tries not to think about it much, to focus on her party, but it’s there at the back of her mind, until about an hour in, when most everyone’s arrived and gotten a glass of champagne from one of the cater-waiters and her father asks for their guests’ attention, and starts off with Eliza’s big news and how delighted he is to become a grandfather, instead of saying anything, at all, about her, the nominal guest of honor. She can’t help but instinctively search for solidarity, so her eyes land instantly on John, whose mouth has dropped ever-so-slightly.

 

He didn’t know, of course.

 

It takes every ounce of training in keeping your composure her mother’s ever given her for her to keep that pleasant smile on her face, and John’s poker face has never been nearly as good as hers.  

 

But his expression rearranges itself into a sort of calm happiness quickly enough that she’s proud of him.

 

As soon as they’ve lifted their glasses and drunk their toast and everyone’s crowded around Eliza and Alex, she makes a beeline for John and puts a hand on his elbow, subtly directing him to the balcony.  

 

“You don’t seem surprised,” he says when they’re alone. “Women’s intuition?”

 

She snorts. “They told us before everyone else got here. Via tacky number one ‘fill in relative here’ mugs.”

 

“Oh,” he says softly. He doesn’t look at her; his eyes are fixed on the skyline, and they stand there in silence for so long, uninterrupted, that a petty part of her thinks she could probably spend the rest of “her” party out here unmissed, is determined to do just that.

 

(But what point would that prove other than what she already knows?)

 

“I’m terrible,” she continues out of nowhere, dropping her voice lower to a whisper he leans in to hear. “I’m so _pissed_ my dad did that.”

 

“Human,” John corrects. “You’ve busted your ass to get where you’re going and all your sister had to do was reproduce to make your party all about her.”

 

It’s so . . . _nice_ seems a bland word for it, to have someone who not only knows exactly what she’s thinking, not only understands and doesn’t judge her for it, but thinks it’s totally reasonable and that she’s still an okay person. “I –”

 

The double doors opening abruptly interrupts her. “Hey, we were looking for you guys,” Peggy says, uncharacteristically quiet.

 

“Yeah,” she scoffs.

 

“Fair.” Peggy comes up beside her and throws an arm around her waist. “Actually, Alex asked where you were, so now everybody noticed –”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

Peggy gives a commiserating nod. “And I said I’d get you, that you were getting a little overwhelmed about leaving tomorrow so you were probably taking a sec to enjoy the view at sunset for the last time.”

 

Her little sister’s a good egg. And smarter than she looks. It’s just the right time of night for that excuse.

 

“Thanks, Peg.”

 

“I got you. And the catering woman got confused about your cake –”

 

“Confused?”

 

“As in didn’t realize it was your cake.”

 

She rolls her eyes again. “Understandable.”

 

“But Mom made sure they didn’t actually slice it up without you.”

 

“At least we have one considerate parent.”

 

“Come on, Gel,” Peggy says at last when she makes no motion to actually move, with an unsubtle push toward the doors.

 

“Fine,” she sighs before pasting on her best society smile, John trailing behind them.


	6. January 2016, September 2001: Harry, Angelica, Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is the worst possible time for this to happen,” a visibly anxious Angelica groans when their elevator stalls on the way up to the penthouse.

_January 2016_

 

“This is the worst possible time for this to happen,” a visibly anxious Angelica groans when their elevator stalls on the way up to the penthouse.

 

“They’ll get us out of here soon, and dinner will keep,” Alexander assures her, looking puzzled at just how out of sorts she is.

 

“Dinner” being code for Alexander’s surprise 50th birthday party everyone’s miraculously managed not to spill the beans about.

 

“I’ve got more pressing issues than dinner,” Angelica finally admits, looking down at her belly and avoiding their eyes.

 

“Angelica!” they shout at the same time.

 

“I was thinking I could get through dinner –”

 

“Dinner being your surprise birthday party,” he interjects.

 

“ _Harry_ ,” Angelica hisses. Her assignment had been to get Alexander here unawares after he testified on the Hill this afternoon.

 

“We all know it’s not happening now,” he says unapologetically. “And what a time to come to that realization,” he adds, looking around the elevator, at Angelica and Alexander in the dim eerie glow of the emergency lights, with a sinking feeling.

 

“Ang,” says Alexander, giving her a ridiculously sappy look.

 

“Don’t,” Angelica interrupts, but she’s looking a little sappy, too.

 

\---

 

“Nope. No. No. No. This isn’t happening,” Angelica says with an odd Stepford Wife sort of calm a few minutes later, after they’ve determined their stalled elevator also happens to be a dead zone.

 

He looks at Alexander, and Alexander looks at him, and somehow he just _knows_ Alexander is thinking exactly what he’s thinking and Alexander must know too, because they burst into laughter at exactly the same time.

 

\---

 

_September 2001_

 

“He is _not_ allowed in the room,” Angelica snarls.

 

Honestly, Harry doesn’t particularly _want_ to be in the room when it’s go time. But John pleaded, and it isn’t like it’s impossible for him to be, as an ob-gyn resident –

 

“Ang –” John begins.

 

“One brother-in-law seeing my vagina already is one too many!”

 

He doesn’t even have the chance to process that little revelation; because the universe hates them all and apparently with the Schuylers the early stages of labor are just another family party (probably because this particular very large private suite in the Lenox Hill maternity ward features a plaque honoring not-so-dearly departed Grandfather and Grandmother Schuyler), that’s the exact moment the elder Schuylers appear.

 

Catharine doesn’t lose an inch of her composure, but Philip’s legendary politician’s poise completely fails him as he just sputters incoherently in the doorway.

 

He and John just look at each other in horrified secondhand embarrassment. When he chances a look around, he sees that Alexander’s flushed a dull brick red, his boss has busied himself examining Angelica’s chart, probably so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone in this crazy fucking family, and Eliza’s snickering into her sleeve.

 

“Would anyone like coffee or tea?” Catharine asks brightly.

 

“Tea, please,” Eliza squeaks out before dissolving into more helpless laughter.

 

“We’ll be back soon, Angie,” says Catharine when no other orders are forthcoming. She grabs Philip’s arm and turns back around.

 

“Everybody who isn’t my actual doctor, or my sister, _out_!” Angelica shouts the second her parents are out of earshot.

 

“Hey!” his brother interjects.

 

“I guess you can stay, too,” Angelica amends grudgingly.

 

“I’m the _father_ , for Christ’s –”

 

He and Alexander nearly knock each other over in their desperation to get to the door first.

 

\---

 

 _January 2016_  

 

“Why are you _laughing_?” Angelica asks, sounding horrified, in between deep, self-soothing breaths.

 

“Hysteria,” he wheezes, because Alexander can’t, and they can’t tell her the truth. He’s got to get it together, though.

 

His sister-in-law is tough, but she’s also human and she’s probably scared shitless. Yeah, she’s done this three times before, but it’s been seven, eight years since the last time, and never in a goddamn _elevator_. She’s older and it’s riskier.

 

He takes a deep breath of his own, and his next words are smooth and even, just like he’d talk to any of the thousands of other women whose babies he’s delivered. “I’m sure the power’s going to come back on soon, but in the meantime, let’s time this, okay?”

 

Angelica nods. “Okay.”

 

Silently, Alexander offers her his hand, and she takes it.

 

\---

 

Except the power _doesn’t_ come back on, and Angelica’s contractions just get closer and closer together, her breathing heavier, and she’s gone from squeezing Alexander’s hands to leaning back hard against him, and –

 

_What if he fucks this up?_

Bizarre as it all is, he’s almost glad it’s Alexander here and not John, because he’d be that much more nervous. He knows he’ll have to face his brother at some point, for blame or for praise, but it’s easier to tamp down his nerves now without John here. “I remember you literally started screaming at just the possibility when Lizzie was born, but I really should see –”

 

“Do it,” Angelica says decisively. “But don’t be weird about it.” Then she adds, “Don’t look, Alex.”

 

“I’m not a perv –”

 

“I just don’t want you looking while he’s looking –”

 

“I wasn’t –”

 

“Can you shut up for a minute?” He has the presence of mind to be glad that he was running late after a delivery and walked into them on their way up because he knows what he’s doing, that it’s winter so they have more clothes for makeshift blankets, that he always carries Purell to decrease likelihood of infection. He’s a professional, and he’s professionally detached as he examines his sister-in-law and realizes all signs point to it being time to get this show on the road. He takes a deep breath. “Everything looks normal,” he says calmly. “You can push when you feel the urge to bear down, Ang. Don’t force it.”

 

Alexander looks how feels: a little scared, a little relieved, a little excited.

 

\---

 

Despite the first time he delivers a member of his own family being in an elevator, it’s one of the smoother deliveries he’s ever had, and so fast it feels like he barely has time to say, “I can see the head!” before he’s catching his newest nibling. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a boy this time.”

 

“A boy!” Angelica says with a hoarse half-laugh, half-sob he knows she’ll deny later.

 

“Hey, little guy. Hey,” he coos. “How about Uncle Harry checks you out and gets you cleaned up for your mom, huh?” He talks the baby through it all in a low, soothing voice, wraps him up in his own favorite cashmere sweater as soon as that’s done, and finally gives him to Angelica.  

 

“He’s gorgeous. You did so good, Ang,” Alexander says softly.

 

“Yeah, you did.” But because sentimental isn’t a good look on him, he teases, “He’s even got all his fingers and toes.”

 

All favorable test results notwithstanding, Angelica had stressed herself out wondering if she was too old to have a healthy baby, but his nephew’s color and pulse are good and, even if he seems pretty content now, his initial cry was strong enough that his lung capacity isn’t cause for concern either. His response to stimuli and activity are appropriate –

 

Angelica doesn’t take the bait, eyes soft when she looks up from the baby a second. “So did you, Dr. Laurens.”

 

Of all the times to blush, it has to be just when their elevator opens on the ground floor to reveal what looks like the entire fire department and the perpetually late Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette and family, who will likely tweet and Instagram and Facebook Live this unexpected turn of events before anyone can say _non_.  

 

All he says, to Alexander, is “now would be a good time to call John and tell him to get his ass downstairs and meet his son.” He’ll call an ambulance himself.

 

All in a day’s work. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Catch me on Tumblr! I'm your3fundamentaltruths


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